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My Last Friend 

Dog Dick 

Translated by J. G. Lista 


From the Original Italian, “II mio Ultimo Amico” 
(My Last Friend), of Edmondo de Amicis 


“ The mission of the true genius is \to 
discover new paths to the stars 


H. T. SCHNITTKIND 


My Last Friend 

DOG DICK 

By Edmondo De Amicis 



Edited by Mary M. Burt J 


topy 2 j 





£-°p1 


Copyright, 1916 

THE STRATFORD COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 

BOSTON 



JAN -2 1917 " 


The Alpine Press. Boston, Mass., U. S, a. 


©Cl. A 4 53 41 3 ^ 









“To my Teacher 9 

BY THE TRANSLATOR 








My Dog Dick, My Last Friend 

De Amicis 

Translated by J. G. Lista 


Come. Here I am, sitting in the arm-chair, 
at yonr service. Come here and take a nap on 
my lap just as yon do every day. 

Would I have dreamed a year ago, that I 
should get into the habit of taking an afternoon 
nap with a dog? 

For it is now just a year since my little son 
brought him home wrapped in the half of a 
newspaper like a roasted pigeon and placed him 
on the floor where he made me laugh again for 
the first time in years by taking a frog-like pos- 
ture, waddling on his hind legs spread wide 
apart, white and round like a ball of cotton. 
Poor Dick ! He was taken away from his mother 
and brothers when scarcely weaned and brought 
to this house which had been stricken by mis- 
fortune. But it seemed that he quickly under- 
stood why we took him and what we expected 
from him. 

He did not allow himself to be alarmed at 
being in a stranger’s house. He did not com- 


6 


MY LAST FRIEND 


plain of its loneliness, and immediately re- 
sponded to onr caresses with demonstrations 
of affection. 

He made ns feel from the first that he snrely 
wonld become for ns, not only a pleasant dis- 
traction, bnt a companion and a comforter, and 
in time no matter how mnch care we had given 
him, if we shonld count np the debts of recipro- 
cal gratitude, he wonld snrely be the creditor. 

Yes, dear Dick, yon are not any more a dog 
for ns. Yon are a friend. And yon are just the 
one that we really needed for onr house, a 
friend that does not talk nor laugh. 

Never mind me. I am only talking to myself. 
Yon can sleep on. 

Among the many debts of gratitude which I 
owe him is this special one, that he caused me 
to discontinue an injustice. I was unjust to all 
his kind; not because I hated it, but because I 
never loved it. I had never had a dog. I did 
not know anything about dogs except what I 
had learned from conversations with my friends 
or from the pages of some writer. 

The marvels and tenderness of which I had 
heard or read I did not believe to be anything 
more than flowers of fantasy. 

No, I could not have imagined that a dog 


MY LAST FRIEND 


7 


could occupy so much space in a man’s heart 
and enter so deeply into his life. Little by little 
I have become convinced of it by seeing him 
grow up in my house. 

Now this little living being that, while he 
runs distressing around the room with an air of 
idleness, eaten up by weariness, and while he 
runs in haste with the anxiety of busy, hard la- 
bor, peering into every hole, searching every 
corner, scrutinizing every dark spot like a de- 
tective, — stealing handkerchiefs and balls of 
cotton, — allows himself to be pursued. And he 
acts as if he got enjoyment out of us while he 
runs about with a stolen article in his mouth. 

Sometimes he assaults fearlessly a large and 
vigorous man, and then frightened to death, he 
runs away in front of a mere simpleton. He 
fools around for an hour with a newspaper, does 
the furious lion against a shoe, smells the let- 
ters like a lover,* and noses books like a book- 
lover, and listens at the door like a spy. 

Yes, I am talking of you, Dick, as long as you 
are awake and looking at me — -yes you who 
answers my scolding with a growl; and endur- 


*This is explained by one of my critics: “Each lady perfumes her 
letters with some fragrant powder . . . the lover knows one from 
another, and prefers that of his own lady.” EDITOR. 


8 


MY LAST FRIEND 


ing my frown, like a mischievous urchin, you 
stare back after your bad behavior as if it were 
honest guilt; and you turn around to look at me 
with gratitude when I pass my hand over your 
head, and you give me a kiss with a lick of your 
tongue, and you stretch one of your paws over 
my mouth to stop my whistle that annoys your 
nerves ; and follow with your eye every gesture, 
and turn at every sound in the conversation 
when we are talking about you, as if you under- 
stood the meaning of the words;* and you pass 
continually from manifestations of an intelli- 
gence that bewilders us, to signs of stupidity 
that become inexplicable by the comparison, 
and you appear repeatedly in the space of an 
hour, grave like a man, joyous like a child, fierce 

*In a newspaper article in the New York Times, John Burroughs is 
credited with saying of his dog, Lark: “He understood not only 
what I said, but what I thought.” It is one of the strongest points 
of Be Amicis’ work that he greatly fears that Dick does understand 
a terrible secret in his mind. 

John Burroughs’ essay, “The Animal Mind,” printed long ago in 
The Atlantic Monthly has become, I believe, the one authority on 
the mentality of our dumb friends. It is an interesting point in the 
study of Dick that the two great authors agree that the two dogs 
understand words, yes words, — and more yet, they understand 
thoughts. This is the key-note of the work, “II mio ultimo Amico,” 
and makes the study invaluable as a companion to “The Animal 
Mind.” 

Lista says: “You find the spirit of Dick in De Amicis”; and Lark, 
too, in many ways, resembles in psychological characteristics his 
gentle master. M. E. Burt, Editor of “Dick.” 


MY LAST FRIEND 


9 


like a savage animal, shrewd like a woman, im- 
perious like a tyrant, humble like a beggar. 
You have become for me an object of curiosity 
and continued observation, a diversion, a reflec- 
tion of what is going on every moment, which 
leads me by a thousand diverse paths to limit- 
less thoughts and imaginings, most remote from 
you, fancies which fill again every void that, in 
the years gone by, weariness was wont to pene- 
trate, — and tighten every day, more strongly, 
the hundreds of fine but strong bonds of 
our friendship. 

Yes, dear Dick. 

Do you know who made me feel the first im- 
pulse of affection for you? 

It was not voluntarily but rather with sharp 
words to an opposite effect, a gentleman with 
a heavy beard and many degrees;* I had sent 
for him after a month of your being in my 
house, because you seemed ill. 

When he found out that we had been together 
but a short time he thought that I was tired of 
having you about. So he was candid and said 
as soon as he saw you: “He is ugly looking / ’ 


*The original says: “heavy heard and laurels’’ — evidently a doctor 
with degrees. Apollo was said to wear the laurels, — and later the 
great poets. M. E. B. 


10 


MY LAST FRIEND 


and then added: “and he is a dog without good 
blood. How much did you pay for him?” 

“Thirty cents,” I answered. “Not worth 
it, ’ ’ he said laughingly. 

0 my poor Dick! “Ugly looking! mongrel!” 
and not valued at thirty cents ! 

1 felt a great compassion for you and I loved 
you from that moment because you really had 
been insulted when I recognized in you one 
whom Nature had disinherited, and I thought 
that nowhere else in the world outside of my 
house would you find good luck. 

4 4 Ugly ! ” 4 4 mongrel ! ” 44 Paid too much at the 
price of one pound of meat!” And from that 
time you appeared to me beautiful, — and of blood 
as pure as that of the Narcissi of your race, to 
whom the gold medal is always awarded in the 
expositions, — and from the very day, overcom- 
ing the repulsion of the first days, I began to 
take you in my arms and press you to my heart, 
and feel with pleasure in the palm of my hand 
and on my face, the cool humidity of your little 
black mouth. 

And how quickly you rendered me a recom- 
pense ! To think that in fifty years I had never 
enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing a dog on the 


MY LAST FRIEND 


11 


street running from far, far away to meet me, 
and jump and stretch his paws to my knees as 
if he would give me an affectionate embrace! 
The first time I experienced boyish joy* to- 
gether with surprise which caused me to go 
home with my overcoat covered with mud up to 
my belt. And I never noticed it! 

My good Dick! 

Very soon I began, little by little, to distin- 
guish the different expressions of his eyes, in 
which I never before saw more than one, an in- 
variable expression, the mute aspect of two 
black cherries, marked with a luminous point 
in the centre, like a glistening drop of dew. 

Gradually I have recognized the expression of. 
curiosity, the impatience, the pain of being de- 
ceived if any least promise of mine failed, — 
the reproach, the imploring prayer, and also 

*Charles Eliot Norton told with “a boyish joy” the story of his 
little dog, Taffy, who came running from the Railroad station, perhaps 
a half mile distant to greet him after a very long absence, on hearing 
his whistle. 

“Like the Non Plus Ultra musician who discerns one sound of 
a single chord in an orchestra of hundreds of musicians, you can rest 
assured that the dog is perceiving something entirely unknown to 
you,” quoth Lista, “something which you will discover when the 
dog is convinced and serenely goes by. 

Perhaps he remains in the obscurity of your knowledge, and curiosity 
may tickle your feelings, and it occurs to you constantly that you 
want to know what he observed.” Editor, M. E. B. 


12 


MY LAST FRIEND 


the ardent demand, sustained by the sense of 
its being a right, and the uncertain fear which 
suspects waggery concealed in the menace, and 
treachery in the caress; he suspects ostenta- 
tious sweetness. 

He spies the propitious moment to commit an 
innocent and tiny robbery. 

Oh, how I understand you now when you come 
and ask me: “Why do you not bid me ‘Grood 
Morning’? Why do we not go out to-day? 
Why is it that we have to wait for our supper? 
Are you dressing yourself for a stroll? Will 
you take me along? Will you please do me the 
favor to open that door? O what is that noise 
that comes from the street, tell me, you who 
know all and even when you tell me, how can 
you be in good humor with that low crowd that 
shows that it hates dogs? It would kill me, 
kick me to death if I were not your dog . 9 9 

*“You can not convince an animal as you can a person,” quoth 
John o’Birds. “The animal has no REASON to convince.” 

Darwin, he says, quotes the case of a fish that tried for three 
months to catch another fish that was in a separate aquarium, and then 
gave it up, not because it was convinced, or exercised intelligence, 
but because it was trained to a new habit, ‘‘trained as we train a 
tree against a wall.” Burroughs imputes to inherited impulse what 
seems mental processes. ‘‘The dog is convinced before he is born,” 
writes Lista. ‘‘A man can be reached only through his mind,” is the 
opinion of Burroughs. But an animal is the creature of habit. ‘‘We 
can not develop its mind as we can that of a child.” 

Editor, M. E. B. 


MY LAST FRIEND 


13 


Here he is again, awake, — he who watches 
over me if I’m sleeping. 

I’m not sleeping, no; hut you can remain, 
little friend. Why, what is the matter with you ! 

I just stretched out my hand to pat him, and 
he gave a screech and drew his head back as if 
to shun a blow, at the same time casting on me 
a look of fear. 

What in the world! I had never struck him, 
nor had any one else in this house. Nor had 
anybody ever struck him in the few days which 
had passed between his birth and change 
of residence. 

How ever could he fear a harm with which he 
had never had any experience, and which he 
ought not to recognize? 

Was it not heredity, that terror of the man’s 
hand, when he felt my sudden act, an act not ex- 
plained by my countenance as at other times? 
Surely, that must be the explanation. 

0, poor Dick! Who knows how many blows 
were dealt out to his ancestors, since he de- 
scends from a line of vulgar canines ? Perhaps 
not one in half a century attained to the value 
of a dollar. It may be that not one of them was 
ever missed by his master: but he may have had 


14 


MY LAST FRIEND 


the honor of a public advertisement, offering a 
miserable reward, — the highest point in the for- 
tunes of a progeny of vagabonds, whose hunger 
was never satisfied, miserable servants of the 
glebe wagon, and of the dancing victims of the 
whip of the somer-sault athletes. And it may 
be that my dear Dick is the only one among 
hundreds that has known the sweetness of a 
lump of sugar, or assumed the dignity of a 
couch of cotton. 

O, poor Dick! Who knows what might have 
passed through my hands, pocket-books, and 
satchels? Perhaps I have been fitted with 
gloves made from the skins of his ancestors. 

Who knows if any one of the dogs of whose 
adventures I have read in the newspapers, an 
unknown dog connected with solving the mys- 
tery of a crime, may have been one of his 
forefathers? Who can tell which one among 
the many poor beasts belonging to nobody, a 
dog that I have seen in spasms on the street, 
encircled by a ring of curious spectators, a dog 
maimed by a carriage, or dying of hunger or 
old age, — may not have been a remote father 
of this my little friend who was predestined to 
occupy such a large portion of my thoughts 


MY LAST FRIEND 


15 


and infuse so much affection in my heart that 
his slightest illness worries me the same as if 
it were the illness of a small child which had 
been entrusted to me by the parents? 

My poor Dick, — faithful friend! You come 
over at every day-break to give me a “Good 
Morning”! as if this augury would have a signi- 
ficance for me, and when I am irritated to see 
the sun and I drive you away, you wait for a 
better moment and come back. You recognize 
me from the window that opens into the square 
and run and bark so that they will open the 
door for me before I ring the door-bell. 

You come and take me away from my writ- 
ing-desk when a friend enters the house, saying 
plainly* to me: “Come; cease for awhile from 
using up your brain :** they want you ! ’ 9 

And when an importunate singer in the 

*The psychological point is that the dog has some method of “say- 
ing plainly : ’ ' &e. 

**The original Italian reads: “Cease from distilling your brain.” 
We all know that a dog will sit by his master and watch over him 
contentedly while the master sleeps. But he will “worry round” 
when the master “distils or wastes his brains” in wandering thoughts. 
The dog plainly recognizes the difference and speaks about it. De 
Amicis reasons by inference. It is interesting to study his subtle 
method of approaching the point, “Has the dog a mind?” and see 
him bring out his evidences. Watch a child at play. Does he distil 
his brains? Watch a dog, like Dick. Is his mind, yes mind, always 
on the alert? M. E. B., Editor 


16 


MY LAST FRIEND 


court-yard sings a merry song that makes my 
heart ache, yon, barking to him from the terrace 
to make him stop, — drown out his voice and 
spare me from that torment. 

And when I return at night from the street 
where I have seen or heard of some infamous 
action that has filled me with disgust and loath- 
ing for the human race, I am comforted by find- 
ing in you the virtue and affection which I feel 
in the darkness from your caress and cheerful 
greeting at the opening of the door. 

And when tired and half sick, I throw myself 
on the sofa in a state of depression, you rest- 
lessly come and lick my hand that hangs down, 
and say as plainly as you can: “Courage Mas- 
ter!” You know that to see you thus makes my 
heart ache. 

And if I do not pay any attention, you jump 
up on me and stare at me until I bestir myself. 
Ah, your black and firm eyes! How many 
things might they tell, perhaps, — which I do 
not understand. And perhaps you, too, observe 
and comprehend much more than I give you 
credit for. At times, it seems that you under- 
stand that I have a persistent and terrible idea, 
or that you suspect it, and endeavor to divine 


MY LAST FRIEND 


17 


what it may be, and at times through my mind 
there passes the fancy — strange, absnrd, in- 
credible — bnt still deludes for the duration of a 
flash of lightning, and which makes every 
nerve in my body quiver, this idea that you 
do know. . . . 

Poor Dick! Even to this point your life has 
intertwined itself with mine, and, thanks to 
you, I feel again something of that sweetness 
which for years I haven’t felt, — the pleasure 
that comes to the spirit from the caress given 
to the little and the weak, by which their fate 
is in our hands, repeating the affectionate 
language he hears in babyhood, and giving the 
predestined caress when infancy no longer ex- 
ists in the house. The caress of the parent is the 
child’s fortune. In the sleepless hours of the 
night when I try to avoid thoughts from the 
present, past, and future, and from every thing 
which can hold the mind upon the realities of 
life, it terrifies me that there is need of taking 
refuge in fancies that are outside of humanity 
and it is in thoughts of you that I find the 
refuge ; and what you seem to me, of the human 
spectre and that if I entertain myself with the 
image I forget the world and am quieted; you 


18 


MY LAST FRIEND 


also appear to me in dolorous dreams, even yon 
a cause of grief; but followed by a comforting 
awakening, it does not give such an acute pain 
as the other dreams; because after I have 
dreamed that I have lost you, and sought after 
you distractedly in the crowded streets of a 
dark city, or that I could not succour you while 
I see you bleeding and invoking me with the 
eyes of the dying under the blows of a strange 
slave-beater, it is a great joy to me when on 
waking I hear your affectionate growling and 
barking, moved by some passion, and your pro- 
longed howls and your affectionate growls close 
to my face as if you had guessed my dream and 
come over to say to me in your language : — ‘ ‘ Do 
not fear, you have only dreamed; your Dick is 
alive and happy; cast out the dread thoughts. 
Rise from your couch and go to work. ’ 9 

Look at him now! head and ears erect, trem- 
bling all over, gazing out of the window. He 
has heard the distant voice of a brother, from 
the other side of the square. It is the call of his 
blood that stirs up the instinct of the er- 
rant and free life, the yearning for the society 
of tailed anarchists from whom I have sep- 
arated him. Perhaps at this moment he regrets 


MY LAST FRIEND 


19 


it and despises his present condition. And he 
is right. I forget all that I have deprived him 
of when I think I have done him a benefit by 
giving him what I have had to give. I do no 
more than give him what belongs to him by 
right. I justly owe him the support because 
I forbid him from getting it himself through- 
out the world as do his brothers who have no 
masters. I really owe him the care and caress, 
because I have kept him in a prison, and I’ve 
imposed a time limit on him, a discipline, a 
collar, a muzzle, and thousands of other re- 
straints and duties which reduce his life to that 
of a college-student who is always watched by 
some vigilant eye and regulated in all his steps, 
and even in his thoughts. I justly owe him the 
Doctor’s visit and the warm weekly bath when 
he is washed with soap, because I have con- 
demned him to breathe the smoke of the 
cigarette; and I deprive him of the speedy 
races in the pure air, by which he would never 
suffer from colds, nor indigestion. 

I have not the right to the gratitude that he 
is giving me. And more than that I haven’t 
the right even to reprimand him for those 
things which I call his faults and oversights. 


20 


MY LAST FRIEND 


Poor Dick! It is true that after you have 
begged me to take you out, you leave me in the 
middle of the street to go and exchange compli- 
ments with the first scabby, ugly cur that you 
stumble upon. But what do I do myself? How 
many times in my life have I shunned the com- 
pany of educated and venerable senators, by 
whom I was annoyed, and then gone and 
rubbed elbows with hair-brained people who 
have the reputation of being corrupt, if they 
have amused me? With what boldness I in- 
veigh against you, when without permission, 
you appropriate the leg of a pigeon, and I, for 
the sake of genteel living, make a good face to 
the rascals enriched by fraud, and oppression! 
Why do I complain at your barking when the 
bell rings, and then listen with endless patience 
to many unwelcome bores, who make more 
noise than you, and they do not say anything 
wiser or better? Why do I despise you when 
you stick your mouth into something dirty, — 
and I have read with pleasure so many filthy 
books? And with pleasure I shake hands with 
many unclean people who are living just such 
lives as I read about in the books. How do I 
dare to complain? Ah, it’s a shame, dear Dick. 


MY LAST FRIEND 


21 


Oh what a vile beggar is a man sometimes! I 
went reluctantly to the Municipal Hall to pay 
your tax. As if it were not an undeserved for- 
tune, a direct gold contract, to have a good 
friend, faithful, and safe like you, for the 
miserable sum of four dollars! What do you 
want now! You that scratch with your paws 
against my trousers, looking at the door and 
then at me with the eyes of a beggar? I under- 
stand. You are boiling all over with curiosity 
to go and see who has entered. Go little gossip. 
Do not make the uproar of wishing to tear some 
one to pieces as if thieves were the only people 
that enter my house. 

Poor Dick! Even if I hadn’t been so affec- 
tionate, to him, and even if he did not tell me 
so many things with his eyes, I would still like 
him as much for the pleasing recreation that he 
gives me, with his infinite variety of attitudes 
and motions which I never before observed in 
any member of his family. He is so graceful 
when he stops all of a sudden with one of his 
front legs suspended and bent in, and with his 
head inclined down on one side, as if he were 
caught by a sudden doubt; and when he gam- 
bols around in imitation of a disc or caracoles 


22 


MY LAST FRIEND 


with the charming elegance of a tiny colt, or he 
sits before the fire, his hind legs close together, 
the white breast projecting and with head high, 
like a seK-admiring, newly decorated cavalier 
posing before the camera. 

It is one of the comical features of his man- 
ners, whether quiet or in motion that I can see 
in them a caricature of some human posing and 
moving. It reminds me of so many listeners in 
scientific conferences when they slumber, or 
when they take little naps, while pretending to 
listen. Dick bows and nods. Lowering his 
head slowly, and raising it up all at once and 
then letting it recline again, little by little, in 
just the same way that they used to do, those 
gentlemen in the conferences, so that they 
would not be observed giving that dangling 
leaden skull, the appearance of a continual ap- 
proval of the eloquence that was putting them 
to sleep. When he walks tortuosly, with that 
twisting of his spine, he is so comic that I can 
never look at him without laughing, again. 
The old image comes up to me of some old 
soldiers feeble and exhausted belonging to the 
ancient national guard, walking in the same 
twisted manner when they marched on the 


MY LAST FRIEND 


23 


drill-grounds, with their harmless rifles on their 
shoulders, to save Italy. When he winds him- 
self up like a ball, with his mouth toward the 
South Pole, showing nothing but a half-closed 
eye, that keeps track of me in all my movements 
around the room, he recalls to my mind some 
elderly people wrapped up and sitting by the 
side of the fire watching, with half an eye, their 
grand-children, in whom they see the intention 
of playing a joke. 

And isn’t it an image of that comic but piti- 
ful spectacle, the imbecility of a man who 
bursts out and threatens injuries to himself 
after he has made a blunder, when Dick runs 
around in a circle, growling, and biting his tail 
as if it were the appendix of one of his enemies ! 

And when he stands up on his hind legs like 
a puppet which has been set up, — omitting his 
dignity as a quadruped without foreseeing the 
laughter which he will arouse, — to reach for a 
piece of cake that is held high over his head, — 
is he giving any different idea of the cringing 
ambitions that shame his dignity as a biped 
who throws himself like a quadruped before the 
influential personages who show him the ribbon 
of a cross ! 


24 


MY LAST FRIEND 


And the way his sonorous snoring and broken 
yawn ending with a yelp with which he some 
times cuts short the story of a tiresome visitor, 
makes me think of the ingenuously sincere 
yawn in which a child gives vent to his ennui in 
some stupid conversation in the parlour, caus- 
ing everybody to slyly laugh, just because he 
expresses their common sentiments, with a 
frankness forbidden to the well-bred by 
“The Galateo.”* ** 

And those ears ! Those two big ears that now 
stand up like the flaring mouth of a trumpet, 
and now fall down like leaves of lettuce, faded 
and drooping. Now he opens up one ear from 

*The Laws of Etiquette. All the people of quality in Italy learn 
good manners from “The Galateo.” Editor. 

**Many, many years ago, growing through a lonely childhood among 
mature people, how often have I wearied nervously, to the point of 
distress, under the strain of “some stupid conversation in a parlour”, 
— like your child, over the page I I was too timid and too bound in 
rules to yawn, so had no relief except wandering thoughts. That 
was one way to cripple the child’s power of concentration; or so it 
seems to me. Mary Day Lanier. 

March 27th, 1916. 

In the sympathetic little gem which Mrs. Lanier has kindly written, 
she makes a point that De Amicis does not reach, — an educational 
point, — the crippling of the child’s mind by depriving him of the 
power of concentration. 

From that delicate well-mannered yawn of former days there has 
developed a modern yawn which carries a little apology, “Excuse 
me!” with it, often accompanied by a patting of the lips by the 
finger that displays a ring. In fact the yawn has become a study in 
philosophy. 


MY LAST FRIEND 


25 


one side and the other from the opposite side, 
symbolic of the state of mind of one who is 
listening to two adversaries talking togethei, 
with the intention of profiting from the ideas 
cr meaning of those who arc well-posted on the 
question from both sides without giving the 
decision to either one. Ah! Those two ears so 
agile and delicate, that gather simultaneously 
hundreds of different sounds, near and far, 
imperceptible to the human hearing! How 
many intriguing busy-bodies would like to 
have them! 

Oh, yes! even those two dusky spots, which 
break the white of his hair, like two stains of 
coffee on a table cloth, remind me of those 
masses of loud colour which the clowns of the 
circus have on their backs to amuse the crowds 
of children, and even those two postmarks 
which seem as if nature* had put them across 
his back, and at the root of his tail, for a joke, 
always rouse up in me, I do not know what boy- 
ish cheerfulness, silly and serene, when I think 
that he does not know that he has them. Even 
the porter *s boy was surprised to see them the 
day that we took Dick out of the bath in 
his presence. 


26 


MY LAST FRIEND 


Here he is again, returned from an expedition 
all curled up like a ball, on his library chair. 
Now be quiet a minute while I confide to you a 
philosophical idea, my dear Dick. If you only 
knew what curiosity besets me, and makes me 
think for hours how to penetrate your brain 
with my mind, to know what you understand, 
and what are the limits to that intelligence, 
which constantly increases and decreases to 
my mental vision, just as an object appears to 
the eye, — larger as it comes nearer, and smaller 
as it recedes, — and I wonder what concepts of 
the mind, what shadows of ideas, the world’s 
spectacle has given you, and our aspect and the 
act and the sounds escaping from our lips! If 
you only knew how much mental exhaustion I 
suffer in trying to measure the distance that 
lies between us, and to uncover your innermost 
nature and of the ties which bind us and of the 
barriers which separate us! If you only knew 
what an attractive and solemn mystery is 
locked up away from me in that little head of 
yours, which lies in my hand like an orange ; in 
that glance of yours that is simple and mysteri- 
ous at the same time, in which I seem at times 
to see glimmers of human understanding, and 


MY LAST FRIEND 


27 


the effort of the word that cannot come forth, 
the aggravation of the forced speechlessness, 
and almost the spasm of a sonl compressed in a 
prison of hone and flesh, that feels the mutila- 
tion of the ancient faculties, of which you are 
preserving a confused reminiscence; if you only 
knew how it torments me now and then, the 
thought that I shall never know anything of all 
this nor will anyone else ever know; and that 
we could live together for centuries without my 
succeeding in making the least step forward in 
the knowledge of your intimate being: of the 
vision that you have of men and of things. But 
you are much more fortunate than I am, that 
you cannot puzzle your brain over these enig- 
mas ; and you are good without knowing it, and 
you love without thinking, and you live to live, 
ignoring the misfortune and the death. . . . 
Death! Here is a thought that has never come 
to me, concerning you. 

Come here, Dick: stand up! Give me your 
paws in my hands, and let us look each other 
well in the eyes to listen to each other better. 
What will there be for us, my dear Dick? 
Shall we stay a long time together? Which of 
us will be the one that will leave the other? 


28 


MY LAST FRIEND 


In truth I should wish it were not you. Oh, 
for many reasons, hut if you should be the 
one, — if I am destined to see you get old and 
die, you can rest assured that you will have a 
respected and tranquil old age, my poor friend; 
and we will never call any of your brothers to 
give us the pleasure which you no longer can 
give, that you will remain the one object of our 
love and of our care in this house where you 
first brought back the smiling — and where you 
were for so many years the only comforter and 
companion, even if a stroke of misfortune 
should throw me into a state of deepest poverty 
I would yet divide my last crust with you, and 
I would work to the end of my strength, though 
I had no other obligation, to ease your last 
days. My dear, my good Dick, you could lose 
your sight, your teeth, and your voice and be 
reduced to complete helplessness, a mere body 
alive only for suffering, but you will never lose 
my gratitude and my caresses, never; your dead 
body will not go to the grave without tears, and 
your memory will he sweet and dear to me as 
long as my heart shall hear the poniard that 
has wounded without killing me. 

Here he is again who is trembling from the 


MY LAST FRIEND 


29 


ears to the paws because he has heard a 
brotherly voice from far, far away, and he de- 
bates within himself whether to leave me or 
not. Ah ! Little one. He is right. He is bored. 
But it is his destiny. Woe to him who falls 
into the hands of a confidant, even if it is a dog. 

— .... What if I should be the first to 
go — listen to this also, dear Dick — if I shall be 
the first, will you remember me, when you will 
never see me any more, when the young master 
will be the only one left to you? Will you some- 
times remember the old master, who has loved 
you so much? Will you now and then look for 
him at that desk, where he has many times 
discontinued his work to take you in his arms? 
And over that pillow where you now come to 
greet him every morning, and where, exchang- 
ing your greeting he has so many times pressed 
your head against his cheek, bathed with tears 
from a hopeless dream? And will you some- 
times recall me to the mind of the young master, 
when you see him sad and thoughtful and make 
him smile? And will you exhort him with 
your voice, to go out to meet his friends, and to 
take you into the country with him, to regain 
in the open air and in the movement, the love 


30 


MY LAST FRIEND 


of life and work? Will you remember? Will 
you do all this, good Dick, faithful companion 
of mine, dear comfort of my solitude and 
my work? 

Ah, your straight and shining eyes say “ Yes” 
to me. Your tongue that searches my face tells 
me more than it would if you could talk, and 
your wagging tail is promising it to me. And 
I thank you. And now go. They have rung the 
bell, I know who it is. It’s a gentleman who 
comes to read me a manuscript. You can salute 
him with your bark. 


END. 


ADDENDA 


THE EDITOR’S APOLOGY 


This Study is valuable. “II mio ultimo 
Amico, ’ ’ My Dog Dick, is valuable or De Ami- 
cis would never have written it, nor would J. 
G. Lista have translated it, nor would our 
greatest naturalist, John Burroughs, have 
touched, ever so remotely on the same theme, 
“The Animal Mind,” including the Mind of 
the Dog. 

De Amicis writes lovingly. His heart is full 
of his subject. He longs to prove that Dick has 
a mind and a soul. Browning, like De Amicis, 
is always in search of a soul. He concerns him- 
self about the soul of a dog, Tray, who saves a 
drowning child and then returns to bring ashore 
the child’s doll. 

“Outside should suffice for evidence: 

And whoso desires to penetrate 
Deeper, must dive by the spirit-sense — ” 

“Love greatens and glorifies 
Till God’s all aglow to the loving eyes 

In what was mere earth before,” 
says Browning. 


32 


MY LAST FRIEND 


And thus De Amicis gathers np his observations 
with the utmost regard for the truth. 

De Amicis makes these points: the dog’s 
quick understanding, ready response, manifes- 
tations of intelligence, mental penetration, 
tenderness, powers of acting a part, pretending 
to be innocent, varied expressions of the eyes 
such as a curiosity, reproach, ardent demand of 
rights, his sense of right. Dick suspects “ wag- 
gery concealed in a menace, ’ ’ and sees ‘ 4 treach- 
ery in a caress,” detects i ‘ ostentatious 
sweetness. ’ 9 How clever of Dog Dick ! 

Such are the points selected by De Amicis as 
signs that the dog has reason. 

“A dog has no reason, and so you can not 
convince him.” This is the scientific way of 
looking at it. “It is the reason that is con- 
vinced.” Reason demands sufficient grounds 
for being convinced. We know a fact when we 
believe it to be true on sufficient grounds. De 
Amicis with exceeding truthfulness believes 
only what he knows to be true on sufficient 
grounds and so he observes every detail, and 
stores it away. He seems to believe in evolu- 
tion backwards, you might say: “Words that 
can not come forth,” “the aggravation of 


MY LAST FRIEND 


33 


forced speechlessness , 9 9 “the spasm of a soul 
compressed in a prison of bones and flesh that 
feels the mutilation of the ancient faculties,” 
so he accounts for the dumbness of Dick. Has 
a dog ever been known plainly to enunciate 
words? I have read of one such instance in 
some newspaper. It certainly is not true that 
the dog confines his words to “bow wow,” or 
“woof, woof.” 

Every point, however, that De Amicis has 
made in the study of Dog Dick is well taken and 
worth studying, the strongest being — “Does 
he know the secret in my mind?” “He can 
understand. He does understand.” Oh, what 
a climax is that! 

What difference does it make whether a dog 
has a mind or not? What difference does it 
make whether a woman, or a man, or a child 
has a mind or not! The more mind, the less 
confusion, the greater happiness and the more 
truth, throughout the whole world. How many 
of us have seen a dog “reason it out alone?” 

I once saw G. W. Cable standing on a corner 
shaking with laughter. Across the street from 
him, there paraded a much barbered Russian 
Poodle, a mane like a lion’s, a shaven body, a 


34 


MY LAST FRIEND 


pink ribbon at the end of a barbered tail, a tuft 
aronnd each foot. The Poodle walked along 
like a dog of good pedigree, in measured tread 
and unconscious of his decorations. He was 
absurdly funny. But Mr. Cable was not laugh- 
ing at him. In the street was a little common 
cur, 4 4 eaten up with curiosity ,’ ’ trying to 
‘ ‘ reason it out alone . 9 9 

“Who is that?” he seemed to say. “How 
cool he is! I must investigate.” The cur had 
many expressions in his face, one at a time. 

It was the cur that caused Mr. Cable to 
laugh, his intelligent recognition of the in- 
congruous which Science calls Reason. The 
poor dog does not get any credit for having 
Reason, or a mind because he does not laugh. 
Lista says that he had a dog that did laugh. 
Dick never laughs and De Amicis says nothing 
on the point, but Burroughs discredits the in- 
telligence, or mind of animals because they 
have no perception of the incongruous. 

“II mio ultimo Amico,” Dog Dick, is the 
most subtle, the most elusive, the nearest to the 
untranslatable of any Italian text I have ever 
seen. It can not be translated by the use of 
mere words, or correct construction of mere 


MY LAST FRIEND 


35 


sentences, or by grammatical rules. The 
spirit in it is the essential. “Dive by the 
spirit-sense. ’ 9 

I have seen many a triumph among the thou- 
sands of pupils that have come to me in my' 
years of teaching but never a triumph so great 
as the translation of ‘ ‘ II mio ultimo Amico . 9 9 


Mary E. Burt, June, 1916. 








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